


Not The Work of Magic

by petaldancing



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 07:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13631094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petaldancing/pseuds/petaldancing
Summary: It must be terrible, having to be so good all the time. — Sonya and Mathilda, after the final battle.





	Not The Work of Magic

“Will you be joining us for supper, Sonya?” Genny poked her head into the women’s tent to ask.

For anyone else, Sonya would have masked her horrid groan. “My feet are still aching from that nasty skirmish along the mountain. Urgh.” She fell back onto her sheets, kicked off her boots and unfurled her stockings down her legs, flexing and unflexing the soreness out of her toes.

Genny pressed her fingers to her mouth in a cute little giggle. “I’ll save some stew for you, then,” she offered.

Sonya wanted to ask for seconds. With the abundant rations they had raided from Duma Tower, the food during meal times was now surprisingly delicious. However, propriety won out over hunger—she still had to keep up some form of appearance in front of Genny—and so Sonya found herself saying, “Thank you, sweetie. I’ll join you in awhile.”

After Genny lowered the tent flap and scurried off, beckoned by the ringing of the bell that signalled meal times, Sonya was left lying on her army bed. Her hands, always prone to feeling cold and tight after battle, were finally beginning to warm and loosen as the magic flowed back into her fingertips. She hadn’t expected to continue marching across the continent after what had unfolded at Duma Tower, but someone had to clean up the rogues and pirates that continued to terrorise the people. Duma’s demise hardly meant the end of all evil things.

“Well, that just keeps things interesting,” Sonya hummed. She could warp herself somewhere far away and make a bit of mischief, but following this foolhardy band of soldiers seemed like an infinitely better waste of time. And Genny, bless her bouncy red curls, had wanted to continue fighting too. Sonya would look out for her as long as she needed to. She was the only sister she had now.  

“What earns your interest, if I might ask?”

Sonya propped herself up on her elbows as another woman entered the tent, still adorned in armour. She must be back from patrolling with Forsyth and Python. Sonya had no reason to keep up appearances around this person, so she slumped back down on the bed and said, dryly, “The way you command your troops, Mathilda. If I hadn’t known better, I would think that you were the rightful leader of the Deliverance, not a stand-in.”

Beneath the jibe, there was a seed of truth. Leave it to men to claim all the glory and have you clean up the mess. Clive and that Alm boy had galloped off to the capital for official, country-restoring reasons, leaving Mathilda to lead the round up of what remained of Duma’s empire.

Sonya much preferred to serve a female commander, but unlike Celica—kind and just and always mindful of her troops, and surely to the throne she was to succeed—Mathilda was forceful and harsh and would push them until victory was certain, never settling for anything less. And where Celica kept her distance from the frontline on the field, Mathilda charged straight in, lance raised and a war cry never far behind. Perhaps the one thing they had in common was that they had no equals.

“I see I haven’t tired you enough to hold your tongue,” Mathilda quipped back as she sat down on her bed, diagonally opposite from Sonya’s. Unlike Sonya, she did not unstrap her greaves or take off her headpiece. Mathilda always wore her armour now, even when they weren’t preparing for battle. Hard as she was on their forces, Mathilda was even harder on herself. She was the first to rise and the last to blow her light out, a regular voice in the weapons tent and a cornerstone of the daily strategy meetings. No matter what, it seemed that Mathilda would not soften. Perhaps that was the cost of being leader, of needing to always be ready to lead, to imagine every campsite as a battlefield in a split second.

Even the thought of something so serious made Sonya weary. “Watching you work is tiring enough as is,” she mumbled, tossing off her cape and turning over on her side so that her back was exposed to Mathilda, bare and vulnerable. She could never resist flirting with dangerous things. “What about supper?” she asked.

“Not hungry,” was Mathilda's excuse. Maybe this was where she always disappeared to when she could spare a moment of peace. What a shame that Sonya was around and feeling particularly bored.

“Then you must be tired. Come now, you can be honest with me. We’re about the same age, aren't we? The rest of the girls here are still little ducklings compared to us.” Sonya wondered what it would be like to see the weakness in Mathilda, how the more unthinkable something was, the more she wanted it for herself.

“It would do you well not to group us together,” Mathilda said plainly. Was it because she still thought of Sonya as a traitor? No, if that were the case, she would not have driven her lance through that foolish archer who almost lodged an arrow into Sonya. Mathilda’s held herself to high standards, she would not work with someone she deemed unworthy. That kind of thinking left a sour taste in Sonya’s mouth, but what made her more uncomfortable was Mathilda’s grand act. Did she think she was alone, that she couldn’t talk to anyone about her troubles, just because she was the commander? Just because her loyal Clive wasn’t around to soothe her? How pretentious. Mathilda probably grew up surrounded by love and the best: the best tutors, the best clothes, the best equipment, the best training, never having to think of herself as anything less than that.

Ah, Sonya realised. That was what made Mathilda weak.

She glanced over her shoulder and caught Mathilda staring at her back. The woman snapped her eyes away immediately, maintaining the stern composure on her face all the while.

“It must be a terrible burden,” Sonya began.

“What do you speak of?” Mathilda asked, her voice pricking in defense. Bullseye.

“Your want to be so good all the time,” Sonya continued. She sat up and tossed her hair over her shoulder to expose the skin of her neck.

“I should not want to be anything less,” Mathilda said, clenching her teeth just so.

“Of course you shouldn't,” Sonya agreed, her lips quirking with a smile. “You clearly outclass everyone in this company. I find it difficult to believe that you would be content to call yourself Commander only until Clive comes back and steals you away.”

Mathilda lowered her gaze. The cheers and toasts from the mess tent were but murmurs in the background, fading out when she spoke. “How is something I've wanted my whole life a burden in your eyes?” The question was earnest, but it was the faint warble in her words that made Sonya’s chest tighten. She could not let another woman doom herself to anything less than what she deserved, no matter how pretentious she happened to be.

“LIsten, darling, when I said ‘being good’, I meant ‘being good’ for the sake of others. Do you wish to be remembered for your legacy in battle, or for being Sir Clive’s beloved?” Sonya did not need to know them long to see the difference in the Mathilda who commandeered the troops, who could continue riding for as long as the last enemy stood, and the Mathilda who was Clive’s, full of love and yet conscientious about stepping over his ego.

“I can be both,” Mathilda replied, there was a fierceness in her belief that Sonya found almost charming.

“Be honest. The reason you’re working yourself to death—is it not because you know that you’ll never get a chance like this again? Don’t you hate it?” Sonya said, sounding far more serious than she liked.

Mathilda bristled at the word ‘hate’.“What do you want to be remembered for?” she finally fought back, her eyes shining with challenge.

Sonya paused to bend over and pick up her cape from the floor. She took her time to dust it off and clip it back on, savouring the moment. Mathilda showed no sign of annoyance.

"For discovering the cure for witches," Sonya revealed, if only because Mathilda deserved something in return for opening up. She was generous enough to throw in a bonus: the sight of her pulling a wrinkled stocking up her leg. She glued the band to her thigh with a smidge of magic.

All the while, Mathilda tried her damnedest not to look affected. "Go searching for something like that, and you're likely to end up a witch yourself," she warned.  
  
Sonya couldn’t help but break out a tease: "Would you miss me if that happened?"  
  
The blonde did not falter. "I would kill you myself," she said without fanfare. It was not a threat, but a willingness to take responsibility. It was in these instances that Mathilda’s pretentious strength became something irresistible, something that Sonya did not want smothered out.  
  
"That's quite possibly the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Sonya pressed her hand to her heart to illustrate. Even Mathilda was not immune to this, for the smallest of chuckles (or perhaps it was a sniff?) escaped from the corner of her lips.

Bolstered, Sonya zipped up her boots as she said, “See? Don't you feel better already? It would do you good talk about these things and sort through them. I can’t let a beautiful woman like you live with regrets.”

“Beautiful?” Mathilda repeated, as if the word meant anything else if it did not come from Clive.

“Yes.” Sonya tilted her chin, gauging the response. When the stubborn knot between Mathilda’s brows eased, she took it as a sign to shift herself to the bed next to the blonde, knowing that Est wouldn’t mind a few creases in her covers.

Their knees were almost touching now, dark stockings meeting worn down greaves. Instead of leaning away, Mathilda brought her knees to Sonya’s in a soft tap.

“If.... If this were all true…” Mathilda began, her eyes focusing on Sonya’s. “What do you propose I do, then?”

Sonya hunched forward and lifted her hand to brush warm fingers lightly against Mathilda’s cheek. The red that coloured her face thereafter was not the work of magic.

“You could be just a little bit naughty.”

**Author's Note:**

> when intsys gives you disappointing endings for tough ladies, you take it and twist it into something gay


End file.
